Through All The Circling Years
by Pilgrim Soul
Summary: Some memories are worth revisiting. Shep centric, Outcast spoilers - previously posted on LJ.


_A brief oneshot, it doesn't explain too much, it just is what it is. Betaed, as always, by the wonderful Alipeeps._

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Through All The Circling Years by Pilgrim Soul

Deborah rattled off the numbers, her nasal tones echoing slightly down the phone line. The stock prices for Pacific EAG were down again, unfortunate for them but good news for Patrick. There was no way the board of Pacific could resist the takeover now. His father would be pleased. Patrick scribbled notes on the pad in front of him as Deborah filled him in on the rest of the day's business; everything he'd be missing because he wasn't in the office. She'd just moved on to reading him the headlines from the Wall Street Journal when the phone went dead with a loud 'click'.

"Hello? Hello? What the hell?" Patrick stared at the handset, shaking it and returning it to his ear. When that didn't work he returned it to the cradle on the phone and picked up again but the line was silent; no dial tone and no Deborah. He dropped the phone back into its cradle again. The phone company would be hearing from him about this, though how he was supposed to complain when the damned phone wasn't working he didn't know. Patrick spun round in his chair and saw immediately what had happened to the phone line. Marie stood leaning against the doorpost, the telephone cord in her hand. She spun the cord round in lazy circles and raised one eyebrow.

"You promised."

"I was just checking in," he explained.

"You said you'd be five minutes. It's been forty."

"Really?" Patrick looked at his watch and winced. Time had got away from him. Marie dropped the cord and slowly walked over to him. She wore shorts and a short-sleeved checked shirt that made her look like a 1950's pin-up. He looked up at her and smiled appreciatively.

"And you can wipe that look off your face too. Its going to take more than the Sheppard charm to get back in my good books." She smiled playfully as she grabbed the back of his chair, swiveling him round so that he faced the window. Outside the sun shimmered off the ocean while brilliant white gulls effortlessly glided and swooped above the waves. "It's a beautiful day and you are going to spend it with your beautiful wife and your two beautiful children." She leaned down behind him and draped her arms around his neck. "We're on holiday remember. Ho -li -day!" she said slowly, her breath against his ear.

"But…" he began, hearing the whining note in his own voice.

"No buts, Patrick. Can you just try and put us first for a few days?"

"I always put you first," he said quietly. "Its all for you and the boys. You know that."

"Yes, _I_ know but the boys don't. They're just children; all they know is that Daddy doesn't have time for them. Let your father deal with the takeover, forget about the company just for a few days and try to concentrate on being a father and a husband. Please." She leaned around so he could see her face, her mouth pulled into a pout and that unfathomable look in her pale hazel eyes.

"I just want you to have all the things you deserve and… I want the boys to be proud of their old man."

"They are proud of you, you're their hero. And as for me, everything I could ever want or need is in this house right now," she whispered as she kissed him on the top of the head and ruffled his hair affectionately, destroying the neatly combed hairstyle that he tried so hard to maintain. "Now hurry up and get changed. The boys have finished eating their own weight in pancakes and are dying to get outside." She stroked her hands across his shoulder and he heard her soft footsteps retreat from the room, leaving him looking out the window at the perfect blue of the sea and sky.

He sighed heavily, pushing all the paper work back into his briefcase, the one he'd told Marie he wouldn't bring. In the doorway he bent down to pick up the telephone cord. He stood looking at it for a second then dropped it back to the floor without plugging it back in - she was right, he had promised.

Patrick changed into a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. As he turned to leave the bedroom he caught his reflection in the mirror. Looking back at him was a younger man, not the clean-cut, serious businessman he'd grown used to seeing in the mirror. With his crumpled clothes and ruffled hair he looked like the Patrick Sheppard who'd met and wooed Marie ten years earlier. She always joked that she married him out of pity because he so obviously needed someone to look after him; he was never 100 sure she was joking.

Moments later he walked out into the lounge and was immediately surrounded with excited cries of "Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!" as both boys vied for his attention. Skinny limbs wrapped themselves around him, their skin warm against his own. Before he knew it, John had hold of his hand and was leaning forward, dragging him to the door with all the might the little boy could muster while his younger brother David clung to Patrick like a monkey, talking non-stop about how he was going to build the bestest sandcastle in the whole world. Patrick grinned and kissed him on the forehead; even at five years old the boy had ambition.

As soon as they were through the door and had sand beneath their feet John let go of his hand and ran toward the waves, sand kicking up behind his heels.

"John, be careful! Wait for your father!" Marie called after him but the boy was transfixed by the ocean and didn't slow his pace until the water was lapping up to his waist. John loved being outside and he loved water. He was a slight boy for his age. Though the eldest by 19 months he was only marginally taller than his brother, but even at such a tender age he'd started to show a real gift for sports. Patrick had brought him a custom-made set of golf clubs for Christmas and skis for his birthday and, much to Patrick's delight, John had turned out to be a natural at both sports.

Patrick gently dropped David down to the warm sand where Marie was already setting out the buckets and spades ready to begin construction of the bestest sand castle in the whole world. He ruffled David's hair and, pulling off his shirt, jogged down to the waves to join his eldest son. As soon as Patrick's feet touched the water he saw the grin spread wide across John's face; the little boy dived his hands into the water and began splashing wildly, throwing water up into Patrick's face. John giggled at the expression of mock outrage on Patrick's face and continued his assault, his arms thrashing in the water. Patrick threw himself toward John, wrapping his arms around the boy's waist and lifting him up into the air with a playful growl before falling backward, dunking both of them under the waves. As they surfaced John shrieked in delight, wrapping his arms around Patrick's neck.

They continued to horse around in the surf with John eventually declaring an emphatic victory in the epic battle. Patrick laughed and conceded defeat, graciously admitting that the better man had won.

"C'mon buddy, let's go see how Mommy and Davy are getting on with that sandcastle."

John groaned with disappointment but Patrick needed a break; these days he always got tired out long before the boys did, their energy seemingly boundless. They wandered lazily back toward Marie and David, John leaned back in his arms, staring upward, his eyes fixed on a twin engine plane burning bright white in the sun as it droned across the sky above them.

At first Patrick barely noticed the man watching them, only to wonder why anyone would choose to wear black to the beach, but he continued to feel the man's eyes on him and so turned to meet his gaze. It was only the briefest second before the man looked away but in that moment Patrick felt a hot flash of recognition, his heart lurching in his chest. The man seemed both strange and achingly familiar but Patrick could not place him or give him a name.

"Honey? Are you okay?" Marie looked up at him, her brow wrinkled in concern.

"Fine." He smiled brightly, letting John slip from his arms - as soon as he hit the ground the boy was off again, running around the rest of the family in a wide arc, arms outstretched, pretending to be an airplane. Patrick laughed and shook his head before dutifully admiring David's lopsided sandcastle. He flopped down onto the blanket beside Marie. She swatted at his arm as he shook drops of water from his hair, raising a giggle from David. He reached over and ruffled the little boy's hair while John did another fly-by.

Still he felt uneasy. Something in him was unsettled and he couldn't explain it. Patrick looked over to where the man had sat but the patch of sand was empty - the man in black had gone.


End file.
